OSaBC Addenda : Sorrows Untold
by LogicalPremise
Summary: A series of drabbles covering the questions that really shouldn't be answered. Angst. Cursing. Lots and lots of very bad ethical situations, broken emotional states, and all the things that show why the Premiseverse is fractally evil. Rated M for the situations, language, and things kids don't need to be reading.
1. Grunt

**OSaBC Addenda : Sorrows Untold**

* * *

 **A/N:** _The Editing Gang and the people who hang out in my Discord chat often ask me a lot of questions, the very nature of which result in spoilers._

 _Rather than ignore such, I rank such spoilers on a scale of how likely they are to disrupt your enjoyment of the work. But there are some things that people either miss seeing or don't put the dots in a line to realize what it means._

 _These questions are usually ones you really didn't want to know all the details about. The Premiseverse is much like a matryoshka doll, in that you can peel back one layer of horror only to find even more messed up stuff beneath it._

 _This series is small works illustrating such things. Unlike all of my other works, however, this one will be decided by those who read my stuff._

 _There are, after all, questions best left unasked. But I will answer them anyway._

 _The initial outlay for this will be:_

 _The Truth About Grunt (Okeer and how Grunt came to be)_

 _The Truth About EDI (EDI's base and first meeting with Ahern)_

 _The Truth About Joker and Tali (Their arrival and departure from the Quarian Fleet)_

 _The Truth About Pel (Pel and his ill-fated romance with Xhelia)_

 _The Truth About Tazzik (Tazzik being sold to the Broker)_

 _The Truth About Aria (Her relationship with Nyreen going to pieces)_

 _Beyond that, I will write additions based on feedback I get._

* * *

 **Chapter One : Legacies**

* * *

Ganar Okeer gazed somewhat sadly at the sight before him, the sterile and cold steel walls of the lab framing the scene in pitiless clarity.

While he certainly did not subscribe to the maudlin and self-pitying nihilism of most krogan in the aftermath of their own, idiocy-induced slow decline, he was not entirely emotionless. The Genophage was a necessity – both to reduce the threat of the krogan so the salarians wouldn't create something _worse_ _,_ as well as to purify the krogan people. Those who bemoaned it should have blamed the idiot Urdnot who set the krogan people on a trajectory toward self-destruction.

That did not mean he wasn't familiar with the costs of said salvation. He had heard the wails of mothers bearing dead children. He had seen the piles of tiny bodies neatly laid out for ritual cremation. It all bothered him on some atavistic, primitive level that he hesitated to codify or ignore.

The body of Urdnot Urv, lying still on the metallic autopsy table, torn by gunfire and brutalized by an explosion, somehow evoked those memories and reactions. Okeer shook his head, wondering why the Urdnot were so ignorant and simpleminded. The only Urdnot born in over a millennia, and his father is fool enough to drag him along on his mercenary misadventures.

Ganar Skal, who stood at the other end of the laboratory, folded his thick arms across his wide chest, made only bulkier by his expensive armor. "You look displeased, War-Father. I would have assumed bringing down the scion and heir of the Urdnot would have pleased you. Yet your expression is one I'd expect from you if you bit down on a rotten jurga fruit."

Okeer made a loose gesture with his right hand, even as he continued to study the readouts from his scanning probes. "Despite the credulity you may have at the concept, I do not delight in seeing dead krogan, even those who are ostensibly my enemy. The boy was too young to even understand the situation – killing him will only further break Wrex."

His muzzle twitched as the probes displayed chemical ratios and decay rates. "I am not displeased with the result, Skal. You will understand, however, why I wish you had brought me the body of the father."

Skal snorted, a heavy sound of mixed contempt and incredulity. "War-Father, we ran across them entirely by accident, and frankly, the shot that killed the boy was a fluke. He stopped Tyruk from blowing a hole in that old bastard Rurx. Killing the boy cost me three distant kin. The least I can expect from it is some advantage."

Okeer wondered where he'd gone wrong raising his grandson. All of his direct line had died in combat, save a single asari daughter still on Thessia. But he had a host of grandchildren, both krogan and asari. Skal was by far the strongest of his descendant line, but also the one with the least amount of nuance and subtlety.

He withdrew the probes and reached for the thick syringe of purgative nanites hanging on the wall near the autopsy table. "Oh, there will be advantage, do not fear. I have no real concept of what mighty Saren and the Lady Benezia are working on, but it is likely to be large in both scope and audacity. This will distract those who would otherwise… interfere in my plans."

Skal gave a krogan sigh, air whistling past teeth. "Do I even want to know what scheme you've concocted this time? By the Walls, War-Father, do you never tire of intrigue? And what in the gods' name could be done with a dead whelp?"

Okeer's muzzle twisted into a smile as he turned to face Skal. "I once was honored by the Batarian Emperor to read a selection of texts from the Pillars of Strength on Khar'shan itself, after I worked out the kinks in their sequestration program for the Eyes of Khar'shan. One line has stuck with me all these years, young one."

Okeer turned back to the corpse. "Death is no doorway, but merely a state of being. Death is freedom from choice, in slavery to consequence."

"Poetry?" The younger krogan threw up his hands. "Is it not best left to hanar? I leave you to your work, unless you have other tasks for me."

Okeer nodded. "You may go, for now. Attempt to see if that fool cousin of yours on Ilium has found any leads."

 **O-SORROWS-O**

Okeer looked at the figure floating in the tube of life preserving liquids, the steady click-beep of vitals monitors and the bubble of aerators the only sound in the room. In a way, the end of the process he'd started left him just as ambiguously uncertain as the beginning had. He didn't know if that was merely old instincts or something less primal, but he put it out of his mind.

For years he had struggled to reform the krogan. To extract the essence of what it meant, and to write that in the elegance of DNA and clones. For years, he'd attempted to _refine_ that core of what the krogan should be. It was his only option, after the passage of more than a million sunsets. The krogan people had failed.

And for years, he'd also failed.

Utterly.

Until now.

With less than three months of working with the Collectors, he'd overcome every obstacle save one. He had overcome the limits of accepted science and spat upon death itself. He glared at the body, then resumed verbal note taking.

"Fifth of Vel, Ninecycle. The situation remains… muddled. Thanks to the Shadow Broker's inept minions, my original test bed for the genetic and behavioral mods was destroyed. I have been forced, by both circumstance and interest, to try and reshape the corpse of Urdnot Urv into my chosen soldier.

"Thus far, I have been mostly successful. The eye color and plating colors are different. The growth hormone and nanonic body enhancement agents worked just as advertised. He now is the size of a great patriarch of many millennia, even though he is but a child.

"The physical aspects have been totally successful – increased regeneration, blood clotting, and blood production. Increase in heart capacity and vascular pressure. Increases in blood filtration, reflexes, sight, hearing, and raw strength. Most importantly, he is a full carrier of Triggerphage. Once his deeds win him a spot in the Breeding Circles, females long thought barren will bear new fruits."

Okeer leaned back in his oversized chair, glancing out the tall windows of his lab. The turian shipwreck made a fine choice in terms of defense, but he did not appreciate the highly slanted views of the ruined landscapes of Korlus.

No matter. "The intellectual capacity and learning rates are also superior to any baseline krogan. The downside to all of this is the psychological conditioning did not take. Amusingly, the personality overlay and overrides work perfectly. I will finish using the Collector equipment to finish off 'installing' the last bits of my personality and memories into him tonight.

"While he does not embrace my teachings – indeed, he rejects them utterly – that will not matter once I shove his mind out of the way. The Collector methods for such personality overlays are incredible in their utility. I have already implanted in him the collected wisdom of the Loremasters that I could recall, as well as a host of my own knowledge."

Okeer paused, then continued, his voice dropping in pitch. "The ability to literally copy myself – my own personality, my mind, my memories – will probably confound the spiritualist morons that pass as shamen among my people in this era. Bad enough that I have built my masterwork atop the dead flesh of an enemy – now I overwrite the very mind?

"It is a failsafe option. I regret the necessity for such, but sacrifices exist to provide for the greater good. I will not make inarticulate ethical arguments as to the viability of the mind inside this living corpse, this being returned from the Halls of Athaka."

He smiled tightly. "Instead, I will simply enjoy the look of ruin and rage upon the features of Urdnot Wrex as I visit upon him a full accounting for the failures of Clan Urdnot. I do not seek to cheat death. If it comes, I will face it with the same smile upon my face as I would if I had no such fallback. But a fallback must exist. The krogan people will be remade, as Vaul remade us upon his anvil. To assume in the aftermath of my death that my own clan will lead my people properly is…"

He clicked off the recording, frowning. He did not know what would happen upon his demise, to be honest. He had led Clan Ganar for longer than any other krogan had even lived. It was not arrogance or fear of death that prompted him to place a copy of himself inside this child-creature, but merely pragmatism.

He finished the recording. "Not something I will waste long thought on. For now, I'll see if the last sequence of programming alters his 'base' mentality and tie the awakening trigger to one of several events. Should none of them come about, then I will simply sleep within him."

He clicked the recorder off again, standing slowly. The form of his creation in the tank stared blindly at him, the lines of power evident in his muscled arms and thick torso blurred by the glass front of the tank.

"One day, when your family has been cast down from the Throne of Sorrows and the krogan people are ascendant and thriving once more, I will honor the sacrifice of your life and will, Urv. I will not apologize for what I have done to you in death, since you were wasted in life by your fool of a father. But I will not repeat his mistake."

He turned away. "Computer, prep load cycle fifteen, intensity seventy. Notify me when it is complete."

He strode from the lab, as the tank rotated and tipped backwards.


	2. EDI

**OSaBC Addenda : Sorrows Untold**

* * *

 **Chapter Two : Daughters**

* * *

Doctor Carmichael gazed steadily at the pair of AIS agents, then back at the man in the finely cut business suit, before taking off his glasses and rubbing his temples. "What you are asking me to do is completely, totally, _aggressively_ unethical. Not to mention that what would be left of me if her father found out would fit inside a thimble."

Agent John Parker of the AIS gave a slow, mocking smile. "I would have thought, given the vehemence of your arguments regarding AI shackling and your own work in this field, you would have been overjoyed to participate."

The slender doctor exhaled to calm himself. His office wasn't very large, given his role as Lead Research Director for all of the Alliance's 'Artificial Sapience and Digital Cognitive Division,' but it did boast a nice view of the Rocky Mountains and parts of the Denver Arcology skyline. He stared out the window for a second to gather his thoughts before turning back to face the AIS agents.

"The proposal I submitted to Synthia was for a _volunteer_ who was dying of a disease or disorder we could not treat or counter with cybernetics and who was both emotionally stable and had undergone a battery of psychological and mental tests. More importantly, said volunteer was to have been given training and classes on how to adapt, and the procedure was to be done with Commissariat approvals."

He gestured to the documents on his desk. "Instead, you bring me the preserved corpse – and _why_ in God's name she was not given to her father eludes me _utterly_ – of a damned hero, the daughter of another hero. She did not volunteer for this. We have no indication of how stable she was, how well she would adapt, or any of it. Most importantly, your plan calls for a memory wipe, which is one of the six points I submitted as being the most likely cause for fugue in AI constructs."

The doctor leaned back in his chair. "I see no reason to move forward with this _ridiculous_ farce of an ethical nightmare."

Agent Parker's smooth features twitched into something approximating a smile. "You know, Doctor Carmichael, I admire people who take strong ethical stands. Doctor Wilson was quite enthusiastic. You are familiar with his work, yes?"

Carmichael shuddered. "Yes. That doesn't make this any more palatable. Wilson is a psychopath who thinks you can tinker with death. And if he's so gung-ho about it, why not go to him for this abomination?"

One of the AIS goons flanking Parker gave a thin frown. "Doctor Wilson left on a sabbatical a week ago, and never showed up at his destination. We're investigating now, but it leaves us with no other options but you."

Parker nodded. "More to the point, while his method and technologies will play a role, Admiral Vandefar has insisted your method has the highest actual chance of successful completion. This is a critical assignment, doctor – one that will garner humanity both a lead in technology and influence on the Council."

Carmichael banged his fist on his desk. "Goddammit, what part of 'no' do you people not understand? You're asking me to use abominable technology to destructively scan the brain of a corpse and then make an AI out of it without said AI knowing who she is! Are you aware, sir, of what in the fuck will happen if her father ever finds out?"

Parker tilted his head. "If the memory is wiped he will have no way of finding out, unless you're stupid enough to tell him directly. That is one reason why the memory should be wiped."

Carmichael rolled his eyes. "You didn't read my position paper. Wiping the memory not only makes every SHODAN ethical protocol much weaker, and not only induces much higher chances of rampancy and fugue, but actively inhibits structural memory resilience. In test after test, memory-wiped constructs crash out in less than a tenth of the time non-memory-wiped ones do."

Parker folded his arms. "I see. Are you really willing to walk away from proving your theories correct over ethical positions?"

Carmichael firmed his jaw. "Yes, I am, Agent. Do no harm. I don't swear oaths lightly and this is the most demonic infliction of harm I can imagine, on both the subject and the father."

Parker glanced down for a moment, then sighed as he unfolded his arms. "I regret doing this, doctor, I want you to know that. I have to undertake a lot of distasteful actions, both in the name of the Alliance and to protect humanity from all threats, foreign and domestic."

He reached into his coat, and withdrew a piece of red card stock. "Your cooperation, however, is not merely _required_ _."_

Carmichael took the Red Note in his hands, absently translating the High Japanese. "The bearer will convey unto the recipient the will of the High Lords. The creation of a **Destructive-Level Intellect Engram** based off of the remains of Amanda Sarah Ahern is authorized and will be constructed in a manner from which her organic identity cannot be deduced. This is part of the Council-authorized 'Electronic Defense Initiative Program'…"

He trailed off, shaking his head. "The High Lords of Sol have demanded I commit a capital crime. I am fairly certain they aren't allowed to do that."

Parker shrugged. "It's only a capital crime if they decide it is. The Commissariat already signed off on this. Alliance BuPers says the girl signed an authorization leaving her body to science."

Carmichael closed his eyes. "If I'm going to do this, who assesses my work once the AI is assembled? Will you actually be following the method I suggested?"

Parker smiled. "Yes, doctor. The AI would be placed under the command of a single figure, and that person would be instructed to treat them as much like a real person as possible. The AI would not be given a specific set of commands and would have 'free time' as you put it."

Carmichael rubbed his chin, and then put his glasses back on. "Who is going to be the minder for this AI?"

Parker shrugged. "Admiral Vandefar, I presume."

The slender doctor gave a cold smile. "I've known Synthia all my life. You put an AI under her and it will go batshit crazy in a week. If you're going to force me to do this, I have a demand of my own, and if the High Lords disagree they can do what they must."

All three AIS agents gave him an incredulous look, and then Parker laughed. "You've got some spine, doc. Alright, what's your demand, huh?"

Carmichael's icy smile got even colder. "The person who does the overseeing is going to be the person _I_ choose."

 **O-SORROWS-O**

"Admiral Ahern? Doctor Carmichael is here from the Academy."

Ahern grunted. "Send him in, ensign."

He leaned back in his chair, scowling at the view of the Presidium out of his window. Bad enough his entire apartment was done in eye-blasting white, but now he had to look out at a fake-ass sky and even more white everywhere.

BuLogs – the part of the SA military that handled logistics – had bitched at his request for his office to be paneled in dark wood and black carpet, but they'd buckled. It allowed his eyes to rest, at least. He absently straightened his uniform and squared his shoulders as a thin, older man entered his office.

Ahern eyed the doctor carefully. The man was slender and a bit stooped, his frame clearly not one of a former Marine. Watery brown eyes and thinning black hair revealed a mix of ancestries, and his accent was American, with a soft twang Ahern found almost amusing.

"Good afternoon, Admiral, and thank you for taking the time to see me."

Ahern gestured to the seats in front of his desk. "Not a problem, Doctor Carmichael. I'm a bit confused as to why in the hell you need to see me, but my schedule is pretty clear today anyway."

The doctor sat. "I'm afraid it's something of a complicated issue, Admiral. And one that I'm constrained by certain limitations to discuss all aspects of. Suffice it to say that I didn't just pick your name out of a hat."

The doctor interlaced his fingers. "The Alliance – with approval from the Council – has been given authorization to create a new testbed platform for an AI, using certain technologies and theories that I and several other cognitive intellect scientists created and tested. This AI – the codename will be the 'Electronic Defense Initiative,' or 'EDI' for short – would be the first in a new series of combat AIs."

Ahern leaned back. "…You say the _Council_ signed off on this? Wonders never fucking cease."

Carmichael nodded. "Yes, Admiral. The core of the project's goals is defined by how we plan to go about acclimating the system, which takes into consideration both our own research and insights from asari, salarian, and even quarian data systems." He leaned forward. "You were chosen for this task because a lot of the code functionality for tactical planning and assessment comes from the system and work you created and refined for your battle simulator on Pinnacle Station."

Ahern gave a slow nod. "I… see. Actually, I don't fucking see, but I'll pretend I do for the moment. Why are you here, doc?"

Carmichael's expression was somber. "There were certain… irregularities in this project, Admiral. A more formal and in-depth technical briefing will come your way in a week or two along with the hardware for EDI. I'm here, I suppose, to reinforce what you'll be told."

He licked thin lips. "EDI is an AI that we built breaking all the rules. It wasn't given a specific 'goal,' and all of the programming restraints we put into it were not code-based, but logical arguments. There are hard physical interlocks for security reasons, but we did not 'chain' EDI to be unable to think of certain actions.

"EDI is based on work I did that implies locking down AIs and forcing them to do things without reward or reasons is what drives rampancy and fugue. EDI has been built with fewer 'hard' safeguards and restrictions to see if such things reduce the amount of decay the AI will suffer over time. If my research is correct, and EDI is treated as a person, then it shouldn't be a problem."

Ahern nodded. "And the point of the entire jaunt?"

Carmichael shrugged. "EDI will be able to do incredible things, Admiral. Coordinate a fleet. Scan through battles and come up with counter plans in minutes. Sift through petabytes of data in seconds to find patterns and weak points. Counter any ECM in a second and generate unbreakable encryption. Mimic and model combat patterns and even provide real-time data analysis of ongoing conflicts and integrating them into her model of the universe."

Ahern raised an eyebrow. "You called it 'her.' "

Carmichael gave him a sharp look. "Yes, I did. EDI is… not like other AIs. I'm here today to ask – to request – that you not treat her like one. Treat her…like a person…"

He trailed off, looking incredibly troubled. Ahern didn't like that look. It was the look of a man who had done something terrible and was guilty about it, but wouldn't ever admit he was sorry for it.

Pushing past that he grunted. "Treat her like a person, huh? I can do that, if the thing isn't an ignorant piece of crap like AVINA."

Carmichael tilted his head. "You can determine that for yourself." He tapped his omni-tool and closed his eyes.

 _I'm so very sorry, Admiral. I'm not man enough to tell you the truth after all._

The voice that came from the omni lanced into Ahern's heart like a knife. He knew that voice. It had beckoned to him to carry her piggyback. It had railed at him about his disliking her asari girlfriend. It had cheered at him, uplifted him, and broken him.

 _"Good morning, Admiral Ahern. I am EDI."_

It sounded just like the voice of his daughter, and it took him more than a second to get a grip on his emotions and reply. "…Good morning, EDI."

 _"You do not sound very enthusiastic, Admiral. Would you like to have Ensign Barerra make you some coffee?"_

Ahern almost laughed. "I wouldn't trust Barerra to piss on himself if the stupid bastard was wearing a diaper. You're not supposed to try to kill me already, bad showing for an AI."

EDI's voice was… amused? _"Admiral, while I do not have conventional interlocks, I have a very extensive set of ethical constraints and limiters. There is only a two point one percent chance I will bypass these and create an army of metallic, skeletal killing machines to harvest mankind."_

Ahern stared aghast at the omni-tool for a moment.

 _"That was a joke."_

Carmichael gave a little chuckle. "You will be working extensively with Admiral Ahern going forward, EDI. Your hardware will be arriving here in a week. Do you have any questions or issues with this?"

EDI was silent for several seconds, then spoke, her voice softer and sounding even more like Amanda than before. _"No, doctor. Admiral Ahern is a hero; I would be delighted and honored to assist him. He has a great deal of responsibility and he's not getting any younger, so he probably needs help."_

Ahern's mouth curled. "…Alright, you sold me. I'm going to have to teach her to keep that sharp tongue of hers in her mouth if guests from the Council show up."

EDI's voice was deadpan. _"Admiral, you cursed at the Council for eleven minutes, forty-three seconds less than two weeks ago. Exactly what manner of restraint in conversation are you even qualified to teach?"_

Ahern laughed, but he watched the doctor sitting across from him. The doctor's eyes met his own, and once again Ahern was struck by the certainty the man was somehow apologizing to him.

On a whim, he asked a question. "Just one thing, doc. Who came up with the voice?"

Carmichael licked his lips. "Ah… well. She… chose it herself."

EDI spoke again, sounding cheerful. _"I merely produced a voice that felt appropriate. Admiral Ahern, your visual features indicate a high probability that my voice causes you some level of emotional strain. Would you like me to change my verbalization package?"_

Carmichael looked stricken. A tiny voice in Ahern's mind warned him not to ask.

"…No EDI. Your voice is fine."

He glanced at the small holo of his daughter on his desk and wondered if he was merely going maudlin and senile in his fifties or if this was just a fluke of coincidence. He looked back to the doctor.

"I'll have my aide set up some meetings next week for you and whoever else is in on this mess to meet with me and go over everything. Right now, though, I need to deal with some personal issues."

Oddly enough, the look in Carmichael's eyes was one of admiration and pity. "…I understand better than you may think, Admiral. I left my TTL with your secretary; I'll be in touch at your convenience."

EDI piped in from the omni-tool on the doctor's arm. _"Goodbye, Admiral Ahern. I look forward to working with you."_

When the door hissed shut behind the slender doctor as he walked out, Ahern sat at his desk quietly, eyes fixed on the holo-image of his dead child.


	3. Tali

**OSaBC Addenda : Sorrows Untold**

* * *

 **Chapter Three : Spouses**

* * *

Rael'Zorah stared very hard at the table in front of him, his hands tightening into fists and loosening repeatedly. Across from him, the figure of Shala'Raan gave an apologetic squeeze of his arm. The cold, brutal instructions of the Admiralty lay atop the more damaging formal printed TTL message from someone he'd thought long dead.

"I didn't even know myself, Rael. I'm not sure why your father did this, but he must have had good reasons."

Rael's eyes narrowed. "He let me think I got Sanas killed. He let me think she was _dead_ for years, Shala. The pain I went through, blaming myself for… not even trying. And then I marry the woman he forces me to, and I try to be a good mate. I try to uphold the ways of the Fleet. I…"

He exhaled. "I endure, I do my best. Now she is dead and Sanas, I find out, is alive – and I'm not even able to send her a fucking message? I'm not 'allowed,' for the _good of the Flotilla_ , to have a few days off to get over my grief? I'm expected to report to captain the _Idenna_ tomorrow and yet I won't be formally named a captain until the Admiralty is 'sure of my loyalty'?"

He snarled the last, then closed his eyes. "Why should I simply not take Tali and _leave_ , sister? Tell me that."

Shala'Raan tilted her head. "Rael, you wouldn't do that. Exile yourself and little Tali? Over the fact your father got you to refocus on the Fleet instead of some alien—"

She broke off her sentence as Rael surged to his feet, towering over her. She'd forgotten just how big her once tiny brother had become over the years. "Don't. Just… don't. This is not me throwing some kind of tantrum about me. This is about the fact my father is a vren'vah bosh'tet! By the ancestors, Shala, don't you see? We are _killing ourselves_ holding to something that never existed, some concept of 'duty.' I'm sick of it. I'm sick of the children who aren't good enough being hurled into the arms of aliens to die. I'm sick of those who don't lick the shaft of the Admiralty being degraded to the Civilian Fleet. I'm sick of the idea I can't pursue my own ancestors-be-damned happiness because of my fucking name."

Shala gave a breathy laugh. "You think any of us enjoy it? You think your father did, or that I do? We must do what we have to do. The survival of our species comes **first** , our personal lives second, and happiness third, if it even happens. I am sorry Rana is dead. I am sorry our father lied to get you to stay here instead of chasing the turian girl you loved. I'm sorry they are treating you this way and not giving you the time you need. But it is all broken filters now, Rael. You have a captaincy and a baby girl you need to raise. No matter what they pull, the command of the _Idenna_ is big. You have to turn things around. You can make all this better. Our father… alienated too many of the Families, and now that is coming home to nestle among our reiks."

Rael snorted. "So, I am a sacrifice for others once more. Tetrimus, I see, was right. He told me as much in our last meeting. He said I'd sacrifice everything, and the quarian people would piss on it and ignore what I was for what they demanded I be. No wonder he was so bitter and told me I was a fool. I should have simply sent back the ships and run off with Sanas."

Shala stood herself. "I think if you're using the words of a turian criminal who killed innocent children and civilians out of thwarted rage at one turian's bad decision-making, maybe you _should_ leave. I won't justify what has happened today. You're right, we _are_ dying by inches. You can either help to reverse it or run off like a coward and hide from it, but don't you dare act as if only _you_ have sacrificed. I loved Han, and here I am married to a man who ignores me in favor of engines and who has treated my own children like little more than extensions of his own will."

She glared up at him. "You don't see me bitching about it. Poor Daro'Xen was raped until she needed cybernetic replacements just to _walk_ and you don't see her moaning about the heavy burdens of command or the fact that it was these humans who saved her when the Fleet did nothing." She swallowed. "She knows that there are males on the Fleet who watch the… shows the batarians produced of her. You compare what you have suffered to that?"

Her voice softened. "I don't know why Sanas reached out to you _now_ , but given its less than a day after we consigned Rana to the Eternal Rest, I have my suspicions. If the Admiralty was blocking her all this time, then they're using this to goad you. But more likely, she heard the news somehow and decided to see if she could cash in."

Rael laughed bitterly then sighed. "Sister, there's nothing to 'cash in' on in the Fleet. We're beggars. Let's be blunt – you didn't like her then and you never trusted her."

Shala folded her arms. "I did not. I didn't like her clinginess, her whole 'oh I am just a girl' act, and I especially didn't like how she made you think with your dick rather than your brain. I'm sorry, I don't like seeing my only sibling being made a fool of."

Rael gazed upwards. "And so, I should just… what? Forget her? Pretend that I was happier and more… alive with her than I have been here? Live on with my pain in a fleet that doesn't see anything wrong with the death of my wife due to their ignorant demands—"

Shala cut him off. "Rael! The engineer who made the mistake is **dead**. By the ancestors, we threw him out the airlock without a suit, something we haven't done since the Exodus started! What other justice are we supposed to give you? We can't bring back the dead. We can't afford to have you, last scion of the line, just walk away from the Fleet because your old turian lover crooks her claws at you and you're lonely. Grow up."

She stomped away out of his quarters, pausing only to gaze at the iso-chamber with the tiny form of Tali within. "Remember, it won't just be you who pays for your choices, Rael. Tali will too. We've both seen what happens to quarian children on Pilgrimage. Or you can just watch the videos of Daro'Xen if you forgot."

She turned and shut the door behind her. Rael walked over to the plastic and metal crib, trailing his fingers along the thick clear plastic windows and giving the faintest of smiles as Tali gurgled happily.

"I will always protect you, little one. Even from yourself. Better you never feel the pain I do."

 **O-SORROWS-O**

Tali swallowed nervously as the Admiralty stared at her. She could hear the murmurs from the crowd behind her, as she stood defiantly in the Circle of Measure in front of the board and awaited their response. The tension was thick and ugly in the air she'd never directly inhaled, the decks of the _Rayya_ almost humming with constrained and angry vibrations.

Joker, being an alien, was crammed into an uncomfortable encounter suit, and stood off to one side. She couldn't see his features through the thick plastic face shield, but she suspected he was in pain, and both nervous and humiliated. She had dreamed this would be a happy day, a day where she could show Jeff how quarians were better than the Systems Alliance, especially given how they were treated after going after Shepard.

As usual, her dreams were more silly immature things that only served to be twisted and to bring her pain. She pushed her roiling stomach and her shakes down and kept her gaze on the table before her.

The five Admirals were silent, although she could see her father's muscles dancing in his forearms, and her aunt gave an almost rueful headshake. It was the deep, soft voice of Zaal'Koris who spoke at long last.

"Tali'Zorah. You have come before this board of the Fleet Admiralty, claiming the right of mating and truebonding. You offer no Gifting of Passage aside from your skills and this… alien you have brought with you. You are the only offspring of a Familial line, you have not been formally accommodated as an adult, your… choice of mate is _not even quarian_ , you did not bring this up with either the Captain of the _Rayya_ nor your own father, and you come here after being discharged from an alien military force for poor decision-making and actions unbecoming."

He folded his hands together. "I will refrain from pointing out the other issues with your request in the name of saving time. Tali, you are not a legal adult. There was never a determination of such, nor was your Pilgrimage marked as ended. Legally speaking, you are still a ward of your father and have no rights to make these choices. Your request is formally denied. Pilot Moreau will be escorted from the Fleet to the cruiser _Shantha's Flight_ and repatriated to Human Space. Unless you have a Challenge, our judgement is final."

Tali's eyes narrowed. "I'm adult enough to go off and nearly die stopping Saren and Benezia, but not old enough to choose who I sleep with?" She ignored the heightened murmurs from the crowd to fix her eyes squarely on her father. "I am willing and ready to submit my adjunction for the completion of my Pilgrimage. Ignoring the fact that I've provided our people with more _progress_ than has been achieved in the past century by my own actions, ignoring the fact I gave you the first real hard data on the geth in centuries, ignoring that my friends are the entire reason we have a Council seat, and ignoring I brought along a pilot the likes of which even the greatest human warrior couldn't match, I submit I'm an adult for the simple reason of the Laws of Bonding."

Her father's eyes narrowed to match her own, while Shala'Raan's voice sounded disappointed and almost tired. "Tali, you are not the first young person to go on Pilgrimage and have an infatuation with someone outside the Flotilla. Having a sexual encounter is not a Bonding. There is a reason we rarely if ever interfere with such – but most quarians are _mature_ enough to realize there is no future in such relationships and let them go to come home and start a family. I'll leave aside the incredibly petty method you use to justify this and ask you this instead – why would we ever grant this when the result will never lead in having offspring?"

Tali wished she could hit or shoot something. "I have more value than what lies between my thighs."

Her father's voice lanced out, icy cold and almost hateful. "That remains to be seen, and is in increasing levels of doubt. Let me summarize. As a ward, you own nothing. By your own admission, funds given to you in support of the Fleet were instead spent on providing Mr. Moreau with mobility via over two hundred thousand credits worth of eezo. Additionally, you engaged in conduct that the human military felt was so egregious that, despite the diplomatic breach it would cause, not only threw you out of service, but sent a diplomat to the Fleet in-person to offer financial recompensation and an offer for more mature quarians to serve in the Alliance Fleet. Finally, and most importantly, you have decided that your own wishes are somehow more important than the security and future of the quarian people."

Tali stomped her foot. "Me sleeping with Jeff is not going to fucking 'affect the security and future of the quarian people,' _Admiral_. As to my dismissal by the Alliance, you already know half the Alliance is screaming that action was what the humans call 'bullshit' and it was driven by a desire to hurt General von Grath, not because we had the decency to keep the body of the woman who saved us all from the geth from being turned into a kin'tosh _trophy_."

She spread her legs a bit wider and folded her arms. "I came back to this Flotilla to see if I and my _husband_ had a place here. I see that I apparently do not."

Her father stood. "You've stood in front of your own people and said the deaths of _seventy thousand quarians_ is not the reason why we are on the Council. You've claimed rutting like a besotted fool with a crippled human makes you an adult. You were thrown out of a military for chasing after someone who was already **dead** out of the dubious value of rescuing a corpse and you instead got her mate and several other people killed. If you had simply accepted our verdict we could have afforded to be kind. Now, I will not do so."

He pointed a finger at her. "Tali'Zorah, you are found to be in violation of General Order 1. Your actions and your demand have marked you as incompatible with the ongoing mission of the Quarian Defense Forces. As such, you are to be exiled immediately and stripped of your place, ranking, and connection with the Quarian Flotilla. As you are a minor, the eezo in the alien's braces will be seized along with all your possessions and you will be deported to Caleston forthwith. Admiralty Agents, take her into custody."

Joker suddenly spoke, his omni-tool spitting out Fleet Saith with a vituperative tone. "You know what, Rael? You really are a piece of shit. Your own daughter asks you to bend a rule that is both meaningless since you guys got a colony world and was full-out retard to begin with and you exile her? Because she didn't want to let you decide who gets to knock her up? What I find fucking hilarious is this here old Citadel News article with a pic of you strutting around on the Citadel with a turian chick."

He met the quarian's gaze evenly. "You aren't even a good hypocrite, you old bag of fuck. Barefaced turians are more trustworthy than you."

Tali knew Jeff had been watching Fleet and Flotilla, and was torn between amusement at him paraphrasing the lead actress and horror as her father stepped around the table and into Jeff's personal space.

"If you were not a weakling crippled failure who was so worthless your own people told you to get out of their military, I'd take offense at you seducing my only child and corrupting her mind. But since you are merely walking trash…"

Rael's eyes narrowed and he struck Joker with all his strength in the stomach, then grabbed the top of his suit and smashed the human's head into his armored knee. Joker screamed in agony until it was choked off by Rael's hand wrapping around his throat and lifting him clear off his feet.

"…You are found guilty of conspiracy against the People and will be beaten and handed over to Alliance police as a thief and criminal."

Tali flexed her feet and carefully checked her positioning, aware of the six Marines slowly closing in, led by Kal'Reegar. "Father, put him down. He needs medical treatment."

Rael's voice was cruel. "I am saving you from pain, daughter." He tightened his grip, the cheap material of Joker's suit tearing and spilling runnels of blood across the gray plastic. "You would stain yourself by rutting with this genetic wreck of a failure? You would throw away your heritage for this?"

Tali exhaled and tapped her omni-tool. Two drones exploded out even as she used a move Ahern taught her, rolling tightly and skidding as she came up with her omni-shield planted in the ground. She withdrew her Reegar carbine and aimed it.

Civilians screamed as the Marines rushed her, but two were hit with arc discharges from her drones, juddering as they shook in place. Two more hit the tech-mines the drones had dropped when she'd deployed them. She fired point-blank at her father even as she hoped the suit would isolate Joker from the shock.

The blast slammed into Rael, and he threw Joker aside with an enraged roar. Han'Gerrel leapt to his feet as Rael surged toward Tali and struck her full on with a kick. The impact knocked the air out of her lungs and she fell to her knees, her vision dotted with blackness as Kal'Reegar arrived behind her.

"Arrest her." Rael turned toward the form of Joker, extending a blood-red omni-blade from his right arm.

Han'Garrel got in his way. "Rael, that's enough. The alien is hurt badly and is bleeding all over the place, we need to sterilize the area and get him out of here. The last thing we need is an incident with the humans. You cannot stab him, Rael. This is insane."

Without pausing, Rael caught Han's outstretched arm and twisted, sending the other big quarian to the deck in pain. "You're right, of course, too much mess." He let the omni-blade retract as he pulled out his arc pistol."

Tali smashed the back of her helmet into Kal's, knocking him back, and picked up her shotgun, shooting her father again. This time the blast staggered him and he fell to his knees, audible alerts blaring of a suit breach and the crackling of failed electronics sparking from his back.

Tali had enough time to see Jeff's bloodied and panicked expression before something smashed into the back of her helmet and she knew no more.

 **O-SORROWS-O**

When she came to, she was strapped into a bulky turian-sized sleeper pod. The battered form of Joker lay very still beside her, his entire face bruised badly and his jaw deformed. Strips of skin down to the muscle were visible under smears of cheap medi-gel and his braces were nowhere to be found.

The voice of a quarian she didn't know sounded from a cheap speaker across the dim room they were in. _"In five minutes we'll be docking with Caleston Orbital. Local bounty forces from the Alliance are coming to pick you two up. If your fucktoy there makes it to a hospital he might live, your dad kicked him until all his ribs broke before the Admiralty Agents hauled him off."_

Tali could not think of anything to say, and struggled against the bindings. The voice continued. _"The Admiralty took all your cash, your shotgun, and your omni-tool, and everything your boyfriend had on him. They took the eezo out of his braces and sold the braces themselves for some cash to a salarian inventor. They sent a charge sheet to the Alliance, so… sorry about the bindings, but they stay on."_

The next fifteen minutes passed slowly, until a door hissed open. A rough, slightly familiar human voice spoke. "You can lose the bindings now, Captain".

Tali'Zorah looked up into the craggy features of Theodore Pellham, who gave her a smile. "Damn, girl, you don't fuck around when it comes to your man. Loyalty. I admire that shit." He knelt down next to Joker and then winced. "…If you wanna see him walk again, much less live out the day, girlie, you need to agree to come with us. If not… well, the real deal will be here in about an hour, and I expect you and Moreau here will end up in a Commissariat cell by midnight."

Tali swallowed. Her throat was dry, her suit was not working right and she felt icy cold. "I don't seem to have a choice. Cerberus will take me in?"

Pel stood and motioned behind him, and three humans in white armor stepped forward with a stasis gurney. "Lady, we're now fully equal opportunity. Let's get you outta this shithole and see what Bossman can offer you, huh?"

* * *

 **A/N:** _Yes, Rael is a complete hypocrite. You expected otherwise?_


	4. Pel

**OSaBC Addenda : Sorrows Untold**

* * *

 **Chapter Four : Alienation**

* * *

Theodore Pellham wasn't a man, on average, who gave much thought to the deeper questions of philosophy.

At any time, but especially in a firefight.

He knew he had the raw intellect to do so. After all, the SA had tried for years to get him into heavy engineering or science courses, or even to go for a higher promotion than a mere captain. But in his own mind, nerd shit had no appeal, and philosophy was just a bunch of weakass ways of saying that 'we don't know why shit happens so here's a justification to make you feel better.' Then again, humans in general had a lot of shit they wasted time on, mental masturbation to let them get through the day.

Weakass motherfuckers. What you needed was real things. Concrete things. Reality was guns and good food, parties and hard cash, fast aircars and faster old-fashioned motorcycles, and the thrill you got from defusing a bomb that could turn you into mist.

Women? Problems, trouble, and pointless. Religion? Fuck outta here, what kind of God allowed the Days of Iron to happen. Politics? Not even a good joke nowadays, what with 'free speech' turning into 'free bonfire' – and that was if you were lucky.

As he slammed into cover next to the shredded corpse of a turian soldier, however, he wondered briefly if maybe there wasn't something in finding meaning in activities less likely to kill you. It may have been meaningless bullshit, but surely, pondering the higher nature of morality and ethics was better than being shot to pieces by a bunch of cybered-up turian terrorist shitbags.

He placed his Procyon-V heavy machine gun on the bloodied edge of the low plascrete wall and laid down a torrent of covering fire, heavy slugs chipping and cracking the already battered surface of the power station in the distance.

Turian terrorists planning to kill the Primarch. Shit sounded like some crap in Galaxy of Adventure. The only reason they were even involved in this shit is Kae went all fucking Wonder Woman and killed two assassins with thrown knives while David choked a third one out and Kai went all 'will it blend?' on two more. Served them all right for fucking showing up. This trip was supposed to be just HR and PR crap, and a chance to score some turian brandy, not heavy combat.

Actually, this entire trip had turned out to be no fun. He and his team – Kai, David, Kahlee, and Tiny – were scattered in cover along with a half a dozen Blackwatch soldiers, two Hierarchy advisors, and a giant fucking Palavanus named Rorta. They'd gone from doing stupid HANDSHAKE crap to saving the Primarch from a brutal assassination attempt, and had traced the signals used by the assassins to this rundown old spaceport on the edge of Guka Citadel.

They'd spent the last six hours in brutal, street-to-street combat, or crazy shit in aircars, or scaling the top of a furniture factory, and now this. Pel put another long burst through a window in the station, grinning a little as a scream lanced out and a splash of blue spattered against the shattered window.

He winced as the ugly white light of a lance cannon stabbed out of the power station where the last assassins were pinned down, striking Anderson in the leg and sending him to the ground. The big man fell flat behind the low retaining wall he'd taken cover by, and Tiny snarled as he poured more fire from his GE-M7 minigun into the already riddled structure.

The Palavanus in charge fired several shots with his Sunfire pistol, laughing in mockery as a single shot lanced back out of the structure, hitting his arm and drawing blood. He turned to the two soldiers next to him. "Enough. This is boring me now; the cowards won't come out and fight like true warriors. Bring it down on their heads."

The shorter of the two nodded, hoisting a heavy rocket launcher to his shoulder, and fired a second later. The blast whited out Pel's vision for a second, and as he blinked it clear, he could see little else but heavy smoke and flames. He kept his weapon trained in the direction of the now ruined building even as he stood. "So now what?"

Rorta Palavanus was gazing at his omni-tool in frustration, his thick armor blasted and smoking in places, seemingly completely ignoring the fact he'd taken a dozen wounds that would have left a normal turian dead. "Well, there's still more of the sire-fucking tark-shits to kill, warrior, but not many." He glanced up. "The last few of the cowards have split up. Tytka, take Ventar Squad and proceed to sector shanka-four. Urista, take Mira's remaining people, and head to shanka-six. I'll deal with the ones at janth-eleven myself, then report our success to the Primarch and the Unbroken Circle."

The turian looked at Anderson, while Kahlee applied medi-gel and a heavy fabric bandage to the wound in his left calf. "Lieutenant Commander, you and Captain Richards should head to the hospital, you've both taken multiple wounds. I'd ask if the rest of your N7 team would help us finish this mess."

Anderson's face was tight with pain, but he nodded slowly. "…Yes, that's probably for the best. Lieutenant Colonel Leng and Captain Sanders work well in close quarters. Captain Pellham is… best with a big gun."

Rorta turned. "Xhaela, you and Captain Pellham head to vorhr-four. Haxith, you and the other lunatic hastatim can take the two CQB Alliance officers and clear out the dock area in vorhr-nine." He folded his massive arms, dark plates gleaming in the fading sunlight. "Maintain comms on challenge-channel Barta, and if you find nothing, leave a surveillance drone."

He gave a final snort. "Fucking Facinus. You all have your orders. Honor and duty!"

The turians shouted back and then the group split up.

One of the Hierarchy advisors walked over toward Pellham, the white sash splashed with a few drops of blue blood, the dark black armor trimmed in bold yellows and whites. The turian's features were sharp and angular, with silvery-gray plates over dark brown skin and oddly intense green eyes. He'd never talked with the two advisors much, mostly talking with the soldiers, and it took him a second to realize the advisor was a _she_.

Her voice was smoky and almost amused sounding. "Captain Pellham? Third Fang Xhaela Serthos. Honor and duty."

He nodded back, Third Fang was a senior captain in turian terms. "Just call me 'Pel,' ma'am. I'd salute, but I'm too tired to give a shit. You got any idea where in fuck vorhr-four is, by the way?"

She laughed, slinging the heavy weight of her own lance cannon to the shoulder harness across her back. Her mandibles flicked in a grin as she turned him to the south. "As a matter-of-fact, I do. Call me 'Exy,' I'm sure that's easier on the throat for you to say."

He walked next to her as they talked – about big guns, something they both loved, about how fucked up the Hierarchy and Alliance were, no big shock… about just things. As a rule, Pel looked at women as mostly entertainment. His own mother had not been a role model in his life, although the rest of his family had been loving and supportive. Every early relationship he had felt shallow and empty.

Women were for getting in bed or hanging off your arm. That was it.

Exy, though, was actually fun to talk to. And as it turned out, fun to fight with. She bantered and made lewd insults as they caught the last remaining Facinus criminals in a brutally lethal crossfire of machine gun and lance cannon fire, amplified with grenades and flash-paks and drones. She could just about match his aim, although she wasn't quite as good at the very longest ranges. Then again, she killed three of the stupid terrorist fucks with her bare claws while making bad sex puns.

Fighting was a lot more enjoyable when you were laughing your ass off so hard you had to concentrate to aim. Before long, the baddies were all extremely dead and Exy was wiping her claws off on a rag.

Pel nudged one of the six dead turians with his foot, amusing himself when the poor bastard's head came right off his bullet riddled and smoking corpse. "Were we supposed to keep one of 'em alive to interrogate or some shit?"

Xhaela laughed, a warm sound that made Pel grin almost reflexively. "The fuck would we bother to do that for? All they're going to do is beshat themselves and bleed all over the Blackwatch interrogator. These creatures," she paused to spit, "stopped being turian when they blew up a fucking hatchery just to make a political point."

Pel shrugged, compacting his weapon and placing it on his back. "No arguments there, girl. Fuck, this entire mission has been a goddamned mess. Ship shot to bits, nearly blown the fuck up, and…" he trailed off, realizing he was on the edge of venting his anger at Anderson and Kai for their stupid macho bullshit game over Kae to an alien soldier, "…just tired and need a drink, I guess."

She nodded. "This has been a poor week for us all, Pel. We're supposed to be protecting the Primarch and he had to get shot saving one of _us_. I feel like a complete failure, and shooting these tark-shits doesn't remove the stain on my honor." She paused, then tapped her omni. "Third Fang Xhaela to Master Rorta: all targets at vorhr-four and vorhr-five eliminated. Six dead, no survivors. Captain Pellham and I are uninjured."

Rorta's voice was sharp but upbeat across the comm-link. _" _Excellent work. The humans have already finished the other team and are headed to the hospital if Captain Pellham wishes to head there. Otherwise, you're dismissed for duty, Third Fang. Report to muster on Firstday… and at least try not to get thrown in jail again."__

She flicked a grin. "Yes, sir. Out." She cut off the omni-tool. "So… you going to check on your friends, or can I interest you in a drink or two?"

Pel rolled his eyes. "A drink or six, maybe. Lemme head to the barracks and shower and get my shit together… hit me on TTL?"

She nodded, a curious gleam in her eye. "…Sure. Never been drinking in Turian Space before, Pel?"

He shook his head. "Not really? I mean, drinking is drinking, right?"

He hadn't the slightest clue why her grin got bigger.

 **O-SORROWS-O**

Pel had no fucking idea what he'd been drinking last night, or what the fuck happened, or why he'd just fucked the shit out of a turian woman for almost two hours straight. He wasn't sure what day it was or even what part of the city he was in.

Didn't matter, had sex. No fucks left to give.

Turian hammocks had a swaying sensation that was only made more comfy by the thick fur that covered the cords, and the heat of the form of Exy tangled up in his arms and legs. She was panting, still shaking but being careful to keep her talons from cutting him as she leaned into his body.

"…Spirits I am so fucking drunk right now…" She wasn't slurring her words much, and Pel could only admire that, given how much alcohol they'd both put down. He only remembered flashes – the drinking contest, them getting into a fight with two turians, then six turians. Him choking out a turian and then the turian buying them both drinks in admiration.

Dancing to badass music and laughing and…

Pel let his head fall back. "…I think you broke my back and my dick, Exy."

He was very proud he didn't slur his own words, given that his liver was probably in the process of crying in agony right now due to him drinking almost three bottles of turian brandy. He adjusted his position, the soft sections of Exy's rear settling more comfortably against him, plating digging in a bit, but not painfully.

She patted his knee. "I… it's funny. I've been wound up for weeks. On edge. Been too busy to let loose. Usually I'd just hook up with someone, but I've been moved around so much I really can't even remember the last time I got split." She used one of the more vulgar words for having sex to the point of exhaustion and Pel grinned wider. "Then again, I'd never even thought about doing this with a human."

He tilted his head. "Me neither. Just humans, up till now. Not even asari. You?"

She tapped her chin with her free hand, then tilted her head back to look at Pel. "Asari once. Boring as _fuck_. Never bother, none of them would get turned on by a heavy machine gun. They wanna get fucked and party, but can't drink or fight worth a vakar's ass." She stretched, a movement that did interesting things to her anatomy. "This? This is gonna be an addiction, I think."

He leered. "You think? Girl, I put the 'dick' in 'addiction.' " He smirked as she shook her head.

"Your puns? Terrible. Just terrible." She paused. "Not that I'm complaining, but… I thought humans usually had long-term relationships. Those two in your squad, for example."

He snickered, arching his back a bit and wondering how in the fuck he was going to untangle himself from her… or how he got that way. "Kai and Kae are not a good example of anything, Exy. As for me?"

He paused, thinking it over. "I… well, to be honest? I don't really pay much _attention_ to women, I mean, in the woman herself. Human girls. Fuck that sounds… bad." He shrugged. "I mean, I got to deal with shit as it is, not a bunch of emotional drama and dating and all that shit. I don't have time to sit down and raise a family and from what I've seen of Kai's baby, I don't want any of that shit either."

She shook her head. "I've seen human romance dramas on the extranet. Sounds like a waste of time. You drink, you see something you like, you fuck until you pass out, and you drink some more. Or fight." She picked up the half-empty bottle of turian dranass brandy from the clothing-strewn floor and sipped it, before handing it to him. "Your people have some really stupid breeding rites. And how you have children is downright creepy. Birthing is supposed to feel fantastic and sexy, not hurt!"

He took the bottle, letting the sweet cool drink burn into his stomach. Chill bumps broke out on his skin as he chuckled. "Yeah, well. Humans are always… a little weird. Or a lot weird. Childbirth? Hell, for centuries plopping out a kid was the leading cause of death for women. Our whole thing is a little off. Men ran shit for so long in our culture… things are just in a strange place now. And as for everything else about us, we take offense at the wrong shit, demand loyalty when we don't deserve it, and ignore the important shit in life because of some fuck-ass rules about manners."

She nodded, then abruptly sat up, bending her slender form in a way that made Pel's back hurt as she nimbly disentangled herself and stood, silhouetted against the dim blue lighting of her sleeping chamber. She turned to face him, eyes dancing with amusement. "Well, that's about as deep as I'm willing to think on it. What matters is you can get me to scream." She extended her hand. "C'mon, lover. We gotta shower because someone didn't bring condoms, and this is gonna cause a rash if we just lay around."

He got up, wincing as a few claw marks in his back stretched. "…Ow. Maybe I should buy you some gloves, damn. Then I could concentrate better on doing the dirty."

She walked away with a definite swish in her hips. "Promises, promises. Shower's this way. We can grab something to eat and then hit the firing range, I wanna see how well you can handle your other gun."

Pel just shook his head. "Yeah, forget Earth girls."

 **O-SORROWS-O**

The gunshot wounds in his leg and shoulder, and the many grazes elsewhere, all hurt like fire. He'd been in pain before, though, and the physical pain of moving torn muscle and damaged flesh barely registered.

The real pain was the one in his heart. The kind of pain he'd laughed at in others for all his life, the kind of pain he'd sneered at when he saw it in Kai and David, the kind of pain he was sure was the only thing Tradius actually feared. All his life he'd dodged the bullet of relationships with human women to avoid having to put up with this shit, and now it happened with a spike girl.

Maybe there _was_ a God, shit this ironic _had_ to be some kind of cosmic fucking joke.

Joke wasn't that funny.

Exy had betrayed them all. Evidence she conned Pel and his team to find had been given to someone who decided to clip the loose ends. And his team had paid the price.

Tiny was dead. Shot to pieces in a bloody ambush that had the rest of his team in critical condition. Kai's legs were going to need cybernetics or be amputated. Anderson was going to require a cybernetic or implanted lung. Seventeen turian Blackwatch soldiers were dead, and there was evidence that an extremist group of pro-military nuts in the Alliance had been behind the Primarch's assassination attempt.

"You know, girl, I trusted you. Not just with my life. But the lives of my team. The lives of my fucking people, the Alliance, Earth, my family. I get the shit you send me to get, nearly get killed. And now I find out you've given it to a motherfucker who decided having anyone else know about this made it dangerous and tried to kill us."

His hand tightened on the handle of the Zeus pistol he had pressed under the edge of Xhaela's jaw. He felt her tremble as she spoke. "Pel—"

"Shut up. Don't fucking say anything. It's my fault for ever thinking you were worth anything more than any other bitch who spreads her legs. You don't even fucking see what you've done? The fucking Hierarchy could take this shit to the Council and get us fucking killed!"

She struggled against the omni-gel binding he'd hit her with. "The asari won't—"

He leaned forward, close enough to smell the mix of scents she had – something like cinnamon and gunpowder and steel. "I said shut up. You ran off with data that I and my team bled to get. You gave it to a fucker who then not only turned out to be just as fucking crooked at Facinus, but who nearly killed my entire team. We had to bleed to save the fucking Primarch a second time."

His thumb played with the autofire selector of the pistol, the massive barrel pressed hard against her throat. "And then I find out you sold us out, and your thirty pieces of fucking silver was to get shacked up with some big shot general in hopes he could salvage the career you fucked up. You know what's crazy, Exy?"

He exhaled. "I think… maybe I was stupid enough to let myself _feel_. If you'd just fucking leveled with me I'd have done that shit and told everyone what a fucking hero you were. The Primarch would have fucking given you all the awards he just foisted off on us. As it is? All this shit is going under the rug. No one will ever know. The witnesses are all dead. Deathwatch took 'em out last night. Your new boyfriend got himself damn near discommendated and is sitting in a world of shit right now. Everything is wrapped up."

He leaned back. "…Except for you. Primarch said after how I'd been betrayed I had the right to kill you myself. Gotta say, Fedorian don't fuck around much. He said I could do it anyway I liked. Knife, gun, grenades, plain old hand-to-hand… figured you can't go wrong with a big ass pistol. Right?"

Xhaela looked at him, and a part of him flinched. He could see she was miserable. That she really was sorry. That she hated herself. The part that fucked him up the most was that she looked…

Grateful.

She managed to swallow and speak. "Thank you for… doing it yourself. At least it will be quick. The hastatim are… cruel and vicious and heartless. They display shame for all to see. My sire and mother won't have to know I was a stain upon our family."

She lifted her head to stare him in the eye, and he just gave a low chuckle. "That's what you're really regretting right now? Not double-crossing me and nearly getting me killed, or starting a goddamned interstellar fuckjob of a war, but embarrassing mommy and daddy?"

Her voice was low and almost venomous. "We had a conversation about how stupid human women were. I guess turian females aren't much better."

He shrugged and wondered if the pain in his chest was just emotions or not. "Well, fuck. In that case, I guess it was just sex, huh? Didn't mean shit, the time we spent together, because you're just a stupid fucking woman, that it?"

Her mandibles drew downwards. "…No, it wasn't. It wasn't just me being stupid. It was just me being a complete fool." She exhaled shakily and he saw her entire body was trembling. "…Don't drag this out, Pel. Saying I'm sorry won't fix what I've done or unbreak what I ruined. I own it all. Pull the fucking trigger."

Against his will, he smiled. "Still the only bitch worth sticking my dick in even when you fuck it all up." He lowered the pistol, then slammed it across her face hard enough to break her cheek plate, sending her sprawling onto the ground.

"I'm not a fucking **_turian_** , Exy. I ain't here to justify your self-pitying _bullshit_ , or your fucking sense of 'honor.' I'm here because I trusted you – maybe more – and you pissed all over it for some stupid motherfucker who's just going to use you up and throw you _away_. I ain't killing you."

He tossed the pistol at her feet and turned his back on her. "You want to eat a bullet? Do it your fucking self." He walked away, pausing as she slowly stood up, pistol in hand.

"…And if I do, does that earn forgiveness or redemption?"

He didn't look back, merely brushing his shoulder off. "Nope. Suicide is the coward's way out, Exy. Thought we already agreed on that. You get to own and live with this shit you've made."

He walked into the darkening night, the glimmering blue edge-glows of turian skyscrapers blotting out the faint light of Menae in the sky, feeling the wind blow over him and carry alien scents and smells. His whole body seemed to ache with an agony he'd never felt before.

"Pel! _Pel_!" The voice was ragged with enough emotional agony that he almost – _almost_ – stopped.

He lifted his wireless earbuds from his belt pouch and put them in, and turned on his main soundtrack from his omni. If his face was wet, it was probably just from all the fuck-ass alien dust in the air. He walked onwards.

"Later, sexy Exy."


	5. Michael Shepard

**OSaBC Addenda : Sorrows Untold**

 **Chapter Five : Parent**

* * *

There were times that Michael Shepard wondered how much of life was simply some kind of sick cosmic joke. Wind whipped past him, carrying the scents of cooking meat, asphalt, and the ever-present scent of ozone and corruption that was endemic to the area. His youth was a wasted mess, his military career was going nowhere, and now he had a child to raise, a dying wife, and a choice to make.

"Typical." His voice was a rough whisper, even as his eyes traced the distant skyline.

He stood on the porch of his father's slightly rundown home, gazing into the ever-rising superstructure of the New York Arcology. The house was a rambling mess of rooms, one of six along a narrow avenue just inside the arcology's downbeam arc. Warehouses, rundown business districts, and literal ruins dating back to the Days of Iron clogged the surrounding areas. It was as low as you could go and still be in the arcology's field… and literally less than sixty meters from the entrance to the shanty town outside.

A swarm of ground cars clogged the streets and the occasional shuttle flew through the skies as the city woke up with sunrise. The gleam of high-lighting from the skyscrapers, the noise – even at this distance – of the city coming alive… he never grew tired of seeing it, and he was constantly tired of seeing it.

Success eluded him again, and again. But maybe things had changed, with what he held in his own two hands now.

Tucked into one arm, his newborn daughter's face wriggled as her unfocused gaze took in the brightening light, one tiny hand clutching to the edge of his BDUs. In the other, he held his cellphone, the message on the screen in clear, bold letters.

 **Mr. Shepard, your wife has suffered from Long-Term Eezo Exposure Syndrome. It is likely that this was affected prior to or, more likely, during her pregnancy. Secondary CRT scans show several invasive tumors or anomalous masses in her lymphatic system and reproductive system.**

He exhaled slowly, thin dreadlocks slipping into his face and bent his gaze down to his child. "Hey, baby."

Sara Shepard made a non-specific sound of happiness, and a flicker of a smile crossed his features before he glanced back at the rest of the message, the cost, the lack of insurance.

"Mike…you didn't wake me up."

His wife's soft voice floated across to him, and he turned and smiled, tucking the phone away. "Sara and I wanted to watch the sun come up over the Big Apple, Yish. That's all."

Yishan Shepard tucked her long, glossy black hair behind her ears as a stern expression crossed her features, sighing as she did so. Her long white cheongsam glimmered fitfully in the ever-growing sunlight, and her features looked drawn and fatigued. "Gimme. Time to feed, unless you want to listen to her crying again."

He carefully handed her over, then glanced down, at the cracked concrete sidewalk leading to the porch, the thin and dying grass of the yard, the sagging frames of the houses nearby. "Yish… I gotta do something this morning. Drive into town, meet some people with BuPers. An opportunity has come up. Big one. Could change… everything."

She frowned, absently adjusting her child in the crook of her arm. "What opportunity? Did you talk to Jason?" Her cousin was an officer with the New York Police, and he'd tried to find a job for Michael several times, assuming he could get a Circumstances General Discharge in doing it.

He nodded. "Yeah, he did. But that's not… going to work out. He talked to a bunch of guys, and couldn't find me a place. He said an ex-Marine could make a lot in SWAT, but I'd have to be cleared from duty, and with the NYC DIV going spaceside… not going to happen. They'll shoot down any CGD just to stop others from applying."

She nodded sadly. "Then… what happened?"

He squared his shoulders. "My SSTAR results came back. Ninety-four percent. I… I have been offered a chance to join the _Solguard_."

She gasped, then swallowed. "…What branch?"

"Marines. Europa. Central Germany. Alliance pays room, board, housing… and **full** medical. For me… and for you." He looked back up. "I don't… we don't have a choice. A second lieutenant's salary in the NY DIV is a fifth of what a first lieutenant in the Solguard makes. Germany has all the best schools, close to the Manswells – some of the Solguard there get picked for the Iron Guard, even."

Yishan looked around. "I… I don't know. New places are hard for me and my family is all… here. Even if most of them live off-grid in the foulberg… it's still support. They could help."

Michael Shepard shook his head. "Yish, the insurance won't even cover a third of it. It's more than a million dollars. Even if somehow I got that much, I'm only Class-IV on paper – the money would have to go to a full cit upgrade for you."

His wife's Chinese features shifted into hard lines of fatigue. "And if we don't take this, then…" Her free hand fluttered into the wind for a moment before opening. "It will be hard."

Michael Shepard folded his arms and leaned back onto one leg, smirking. "Nah, we got this. I know new places freak you out a bit, but with time we can get your family all Class I and move 'em over, and start someplace fresh, not my daddy's rundown ass house. A future."

 **O-SORROWS-O**

 _" _Systems Alliance Commissariat! Open this door!"__

The sound of impacts on the front door woke Michael Shepard from a drug-induced stupor, but he recognized that voice all the same. His front room was a disarrayed mess, a non-working vidscreen hanging askew, bookshelves filled with unread and rotting texts and colonized by sheets of dust. A coffee table strewn with drug paraphernalia, old magazines, ashtrays and empty cigarette packs.

A fitting end to the messy ignominy that was his life.

"Doors unlocked, Rachel. C'mon in."

The door opened wide, revealing a pair of females in mirror-finished faceplates, one wearing a black uniform with rank-marks for a Major of Marines, the other the stark-white black-trimmed uniform of a Penal Legionnaire.

Michael Shepard leaned back in his ragged and worn out recliner, smiling faintly. Years beyond count had etched into his once-fine features, his eyes pits of wrinkle-ringed ejecta, his once charming smirk a mere line in hard, haggard features. Graying dreadlocks swayed, each one ended in carven bone charms and bits of metal.

He wore urban-camo BDU pants and a dirty, off-white T-shirt, the BDUs cut off at the knee to make room for the street-salvaged cybernetic legs he had, both mismatched and rusted. "I'd offer you a beer, Rach, but spent my last creds on a stick of Nine."

Rachel merely gave a soft laugh. "Figures. And Yishan? Here, or strung out on some corner?"

He rolled his eyes. "She's in the back."

Rachel's voice was almost amused sounding. "Sober, or…"

Michael shrugged. "Does it matter? She's blown on enough heroin and red that you could cut her wide open and she wouldn't feel it. Sides, I know you're cleaning up loose ends, even brought a fucking Legion bullet stopper to take the fall for it, I'm guessing. Took you long enough."

Rachel gestured. "Search the house. Find the other person, do what you need to do then come back in here. Remember. No hesitation."

Michael watched the slender female shake before she shook herself and stalked away, lifting the Avenger rifle in her hands as she walked through the kitchen toward the bedroom. He found that curious – how did she know the layout?

Rachel pulled off her helmet, and gave him a wide smile. "That's Sara, by the way. Just thought you should know."

Michael said nothing for long seconds, then the soft bang of a shot rang out. A broken sounding sob, then a snarl of anger as the figure stormed back into the room, a tiny spatter of blood marring the uniform. "Sara, meet your father. Michael, meet Sara Shepard, the girl you ruined."

For a moment, Michael Shepard almost spoke. Almost told how Rachel had paid him for years after the mess in the swamps, up until he'd sold Sara off – an idea she'd given him. He almost spoke his suspicion his wife's meds had been sabotaged, the hesitancy of the dealer he'd tracked down to say who supplied him that turned out dead the next day.

Almost told her that he suspected this was all a long game, played by those far above both the reach and understanding of him and his child.

Then his daughter tore her helmet off, and his eyes met hers. Dark blue, but shaped like Yishan. Soft, black hair like his wife, a mix of their features. Sorrow was in those eyes, and anger, and grief and above all else confusion.

He remembered, in a flash of light that seemed almost painful and blasphemous to recall, holding her on the sagging porch a few meters away and gazing out over New York, and he felt himself exhale slowly and smile wider.

He could blame others.

He could blame life. Or the doctors not curing Yishan. He could blame his own stupid heroics that got him paralyzed, or the stupidity he'd done in trying to bypass SA law and regs to get cybernetics to let him walk again.

He could blame that ass Grissom, and that prissy fucker Harris – the N Commander – who'd not covered for him, instead letting him get dishonorably discharged and drummed out of his home in Bonn

He could blame his old friends for dragging him down into the lifestyle, or Thalia Renas for fronting him cash and then putting evil notions in his head…

But at the end of the day, he knew he'd chosen everything he'd done.

He'd done it because survival mattered more than fucking shit like 'morals' or 'ethics.' Couldn't eat, drink, fuck, or smoke them, so what did it matter?

He'd sold both his daughters, and neither one of them knew the other lived. He'd ruined his wife, taking out on her what he should have fixed himself, and reduced her to a junkie. He'd destroyed himself and all that was left was closing the circle.

He lifted his chin and stared his daughter in the eye. "Two things, then pull the trigger. You were…"

He paused. He could do this the right way. Give the girl something to carry away that made everything at least tolerable.

Or… he could do it the Shepard way.

His lips twisted.

"…always a **mistake** that shouldn't have happened. We did our best, and when that didn't matter anymore, I cut my losses. I own that shit. I don't ask forgiveness. You ruined my life plans, and you ruined your mother."

He watched the interplay of strangled fury and confused pain on her features. Good. He didn't really care all that much, but some scars now would toughen her up down the road. That was the best he could do…

…and if he was honest with himself, it was mostly out of spite. He hoped she lived an even emptier life than he had. He spoke with anger with the next set of words, knowing what was left for him.

"Second thing, I make no excuses – and give no answers. Ask God for those. All I ask is you aim for the head and don't drag this out."

Sara's eyes widened, and for long seconds nothing happened, then she pulled the trigger. Michael expected there would be pain, and oddly, there wasn't any. Just a dull feeling of impact, and then…

Nothing. His last thought was darkness was a fitting end for it all.

Blood dripped from the walls, trickling down peeling wallpaper of fading sky-blue and granite. It soaked into the cracked leather of the recliner, into the cheap and tattered carpet so sodden with trash, dirt, and ash it was basically gray.

It trickled down the cheek of Sara Ying Shepard, as she shot her father again, and again, and again, before screaming and dropping to her knees, sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. Rachel shook her head in disbelief at his final words.

Michael Shepard had always tried to do what was best for him and it always went wrong. She couldn't have figured a better way to destroy any hesitance in Sara if she'd had a speechwriter come up with it. She knelt down next to her and lifted the girls' chin. "Hey."

Pools of blue confusion and agony met her gaze, and she met that expression with a small smile. "Let's get you back to base. We don't need to linger here."

Shepard wiped her face roughly and nodded, looking almost nauseated, and stumbled out. Rachel stood smoothly and glanced around, before noticing a tattered, leather-bound book of some kind. She picked it up, and flipping through the pages, found it was a diary.

The last page was from a month prior. _"Nothing left to write. Nothing left to say, do, or to live. You don't get second chances at life, piss it away and then all you have left is piss. No point blaming others for your own mistakes._

 _"Anyone reading this… my name was Michael Shepard. I fucked up everything, destroyed what little good or beauty I brought into this world… and I have not a single goddamned regret. Bible said it best, I am what I am."_

Rachel put it in her pack, replacing her helmet and picking up the one Sara had dropped. "See you later, Michael."

She pulled a white tube off her belt and twisted it before tossing it in the kitchen. Striding back out to the shuttle, she got in and tossed Shepard her helmet. "Put that back on once you get your shit back together… and you did well."

Shepard swallowed. "I just killed my—"

Rachel shook her head. "Those pieces of shit weren't parents any more than I am a fucking nuclear reactor. They sold you, for drug money, and he just sat there and called you a 'mistake.' You were never theirs."

She lifted Shepard's chin again, marveling at how – obvious in hindsight – her eyes were the same as her father's. "You're mine now. Always mine."


End file.
